


My Boy

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Human, Come Swallowing, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Father/Son Incest, Hank Anderson Has a Big Dick, M/M, Not Underage, Older Man/Younger Man, Pseudo-Incest, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wet & Messy, hell yeah, i think thats everything??????????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26977099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Hank Anderson was no stranger to fostering children – his wife had been big on it, back when he was married, and they’d even tried for a child of their own at one point. After Cole died, though, Hank’s wife left him and he was quite suddenly on his own again, and he hated that loneliness. So he decided to give it one last shot, and had ended up with Connor. Sometimes he wondered if it was the best choice – maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew. But Connor… well. Connor was something special, and Hank wouldn’t give him up for anything.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 130
Collections: Anonymous





	My Boy

**Author's Note:**

> im posting this under anon bc im sensitive uwu
> 
> connor is a legal adult. he is also adopted, hence pseudo-incest. if you continue to read this in blatant disregard of the tags (and this warning) then that's on you!!!!!!! don't be a fucking moron

After a long day on the job, stuck at his desk chasing leads that took him nowhere, Hank really thought things couldn’t get any worse.

He was wrong.

“Listen, I wish I wasn’t calling you right now,” Collins was saying on the other end of the line, but Hank barely heard him. A migraine beat behind his eyes, the honey-gold of his whiskey swimming like an impossible dream in his imagination. But he was here, in his dark, cold car, and his whiskey was in his kitchen cabinet, far, far away. “But I am. He’s here. He was -,” Ben made an uncomfortable noise and Hank could tell he was sweating. He pressed his fingers to his eyelids to try and alleviate some of the pain; it didn’t work. “Just come and get him. Please.”

Hank was an asshole, and he’d happily be the first one to tall you so – but the sheer discomfort in Ben’s voice makes even him wince, and he decides to cut him some slack. He kicks his car back into gear again, pulling out onto the road from where he’d pulled over when his phone began going off. Usually he’d ignore it, but Ben never called without a reason.

The drive to the station was tense and silent, even despite Hank being alone. The ice-cream in the trunk would already be melting – it’d be soup by the time he got it home. Great. Just what he needed. He thinks about what he’ll say when he gets there, when he’s faced with something that’s become a new normal.

“Hank,” Ben began the moment he saw Hank amble in through the station’s door. “Thank God -,”

“Where is he?” Hank asked tiredly. Ben, grimacing, led him back towards the holding cells. Some drunkard was snoring off his stupor in one of them, drooling all over himself, but most of them were empty. It was a Wednesday, for Christ’s sake – even petty criminals had better sense than that.

Hank moseyed to the last cell and leaned against the wall. Looking displeased was easy – a relief, almost.

A pair of innocent-looking eyes peered back at him from the darkness; the anger behind them was about as threatening as a puppy throwing a tantrum. “What was it this time?”

“Shoplifting,” Ben informed him with a heavy sigh.

Hank sighed and pushed away from the wall. “Let him out,” he told Ben. “I’ll take him home. Give him a talking to and all that.”

Ben’s face was tight. “Just… make sure it sticks this time.”

Hank didn’t reply. He couldn’t trust what he’d say if he did. Ben was right, he knew that – this had happened enough times by now. Ben returned with the keys and let the door roll open. “Get out here, Connor. We’re leaving.”

Connor. Oh, Connor – Hank still remembered the first time he laid eyes on the kid, hunkered down in too-big clothing, eyes flitting about, restless and unable to find purchase. He was a good kid, really – Amanda had told him as much, and Hank had always been a good read of character. He just needed guidance, she said; he functioned best with an objective. Hank saw him as something of a challenge, since the kid seemed set on undermining him at every turn, but the sight of that gangly teenager huddled in the corner pulled at his heartstrings a way not many things did anymore. That was a few years ago, now.

Connor emerged from the cell and refused to meet Hank’s eye. He had that lofty, blameless expression Hank saw so often on teenagers, mostly those whose asses ended up behind bars for stupid shit like stealing a few dollars’ worth of cigarettes. He made to grab Connor’s arm, but the boy jerked from his grip and muttered something Hank didn’t quite catch. His migraine gave a particularly painful jab at the same time.

“Thanks, Ben,” he offered as he guided Connor out of the station by the scruff of his neck.

Ben gave him a pained smile.

Hank’s huge hand gripped the back of Connor’s neck and shoved him into the passenger side of the car. Connor collapsed bonelessly into the seat, huddling in his jacket the same way he had all those years ago, swaddled up to his nose. He stared stubbornly out of the dark windshield, unmoving as Hank slammed the door and got in the other side, his movements jagged and purposefully violent. It was always like this – Connor would sneak out when Hank was busy, partake in petty crime for what Hank could only assume was shits and giggles, and Hank would get a call telling him his kid was at the station under charges.

“How many times is this?” he asked stiffly. Connor didn’t reply. Hank kicked the car into gear and tried not to take out his anger on the speed limit. They drove in silence, Hank’s blood simmering, drawing dangerously close to a boil. He threw a few too-hard turns just to see Connor jolt a little.

When they got back to Hank’s house, he pulled into the drive and killed the engine. Then they just sat there in the dark and the cold and the quiet.

“What do I have to do?” Hank asked. “You – why do you keep _doing_ this, Connor? I know you’re better than this. You know it, too.” He turned and found Connor looking at him with those wide, warm eyes of his, the eyes he’d fallen so deeply into when they’d first met. Connor’s lips parted as if he was going to say something, but he obviously thought better of it, clenching his teeth and looking away again. Hank sighed, leaning back.

“I was bored,” Connor said, just as Hank reached for the door. “You’re never around. What else was there to do?”

Hank became very still, then. He was a smart man – he’d always prided himself on reading people. Connor was no different. Hank’s throat grew tight as he that realized the reason he sought was the one thing he’d never really thought of. The thing he probably should have thought of first.

Attention.

Hank Anderson was no stranger to fostering children – his wife had been big on it, back when he was married, and they’d even tried for a child of their own at one point. After Cole died, though, Hank’s wife left him and he was quite suddenly on his own again, and he _hated_ that loneliness. So he decided to give it one last shot, and had ended up with Connor. Sometimes he wondered if it was the best choice – maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew. But Connor… well. Connor was something special, and Hank wouldn’t give him up for anything.

Connor, huddled in the corner, said nothing. He was too old for most people, too standoffish, too clinical and analyzing and blunt with his words. Nobody wanted him, Amanda had said under her breath. _He’s toeing his expiration date._

That had sealed the deal for Hank.

And now here they were, years later, and Hank felt like he barely knew Connor any better than when the kid first set foot in the door. It came as a surprise when Connor agreed to the adoption. He knew the boy was smart, devious, and often knew far more than he let on. Connor was a difficult nut to crack, but Hank always loved a challenge, and he loved Connor. He wanted the best for him, truly he did. Even though Connor could be difficult, Hank wouldn’t give him up for the world. Connor… Connor was one of the only things he lived for these days.

“I know you had a date,” Connor spat out, and for the first time Hank saw the anger in his face. Bitterness. It doesn’t suit him; his features are handsome and not easily given over to upset, like he was made to be appealing, hand-crafted, _designed_ by some asshole playing God who wanted to give Hank a hard time. “You – you’re giving up on me.”

Hanks’ belly lurched. Heat rushed to his face, panic prickling beneath his skin just like it would if Connor had pulled a fucking gun on him. “No - !” He said it too quickly, too loudly, but it’s enough to fix Connor’s attention on him fully, and he winced under the weight of his gaze. “No. _No._ I would never – I’d never give up on you, son. I told you that. You _know_ that. You -,”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” Connor’s voice was cruel and sharp as a knife. It hurt, twisting deep, and Hank flinched. He’d… been in a not-so-great spot recently. He’d been drinking more, working more, spending less time at home. But it wasn’t because he didn’t like Connor, that he didn’t love him – fuck. It was the opposite. It was the opposite, and Hank _hated_ it.

Hank didn’t say anything. He stared down at the hand brake with a brain utterly devoid of thought. He couldn’t think – it was too dangerous. Couldn’t think, couldn’t speak – he did the only thing he could do. He reached out, taking Connor’s face into his palm.

Connor’s reaction was instant. He breathed in sharply through his nose; it was like Hank’s touch was the hit of a drug, dragging through each cell until the kid’s eyes closed and he leaned fully into the touch. Hank was reeling. Here Connor was, prettiest boy on the goddamn earth, pressing his cheek into Hank’s hand like a fucking puppy.

It was all he wanted. Hank felt sick. _It was all he wanted. Love. Love._

He was right, too – Hank did have a date. It was his first one in years, set up by Fowler in the hopes that Hank might find someone to settle down with. Ergo, Connor had done this on purpose. He went out and shoplifted for the sole purpose of foiling Hank’s plans, of drawing his attention, firing off a flare. And Hank – well, Hank was a blind old asshole, apparently.

“Let’s go inside,” Hank murmured, reluctantly prying his hand from Connor’s face. “It’s fuckin’ freezing out here.”

They ambled inside out of the biting cold; Sumo fell on them the moment they set foot in the door, slobbering all over Connor’s jeans as the boy lavished him with attention. Their routine was the same as it always was, wordless, and yet the air was different; charged. Hank could still feel Connor’s skin under his hand.

Fuck. Hank was toeing a dangerous line. Connor wasn’t a child anymore, and Hank knew better than anyone that he certainly wasn’t stupid. The kid knew what he was doing, and Hank couldn’t afford to slip up.

Connor seemed to mellow out as the evening crawled on. He didn’t say much, didn’t pull any moves, but his face was more open than it had been, soft in a way that brought Hank a little relief. Maybe he could get through to him, this time. Maybe they were turning a corner. Attention – that was fine. Hank could do that. He knew how to do that. He –

“Hank?” Connor was loitering by the door of Hank’s bedroom, hovering there as if he wasn’t sure he was welcome. It was late – Hank was in bed reading by lamplight, and he glanced at Connor over the top of his glasses, surprised.

“Hey, Con. You okay?” His finger was already dogearing the page, ready to set the book aside; Connor’s eyes darted down to catch the movement. Nothing escaped his notice.

“I – yeah. I just – don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Don’t feel well.”

Hank tossed his book onto the floor next to the bed, forgotten instantly, taking off his glasses and placing them on the nightstand. He patted the bed next to him, and after a beat of hesitation Connor crossed the room in a few long-legged strides, bouncing down onto the bed and flopping down by Hank’s side. There was a flash of gladness on his face, and Hank’s breath fled him at the sight of it. His hand moved to Connor’s hair, smoothing back that remorseless cowlick, and Connor _smiled._

“You gotta stop getting into trouble,” Hank said sternly, but there was no force behind it, and Connor’s smile softened into something dangerously close to a smirk. There was the slightest glimmer of teeth. “I’m an old man, Con. I can’t keep up with you. Besides, who’d trust a cop whose son keeps getting dragged in on charges of petty theft?”

“Why should I?” Connor demanded, challenging. _This_ was the Connor Hank loved – the Connor who pushed back, who contested, who _challenged_. “Maybe I like getting into trouble.”

Hank considered him. His hand drew into a fist, slowly, gripping Connor’s hair at the root and giving it the gentlest tug. The gesture would be playful, but the way Connor was looking at him with half-lidded eyes and an open mouth was… something else.

“Maybe _I_ could change your mind. What are your terms, deviant?”

Connor’s chuckle was a hair’s breadth from sinful. They were wading into dangerous waters. Hank knew he should stop there – draw a line, lay the law. He should. He _should._

“You could give me something better to do,” Connor reasoned, and Hank knew then that he was a fucking goner. “Maybe.”

“Connor,” he rasped; it was a plea he couldn’t give words to, but Connor seemed to recognize it, and he saw the same pain reflected in the boy’s face, in his eyes, in the bob of his throat.

 _Attention_. It was a flame that sluiced through each shadowy recess of his brain, each unexplored desire, each repressed memory. Connor had a funny way of stripping him bare and laying him to waste, and Hank always felt exposed by him, like the kid could scan him with his fucking eyeballs. His grip loosened and his hand descended to stroke lovingly over Connor’s brow, his cheek, the shallow dimple in his chin. His boy. His beautiful, gorgeous boy.

“Don’t make me go,” Connor begged, playfulness shifting into a longing so deep that Hank almost drowned in it. “Please don’t.”

Hank shook his head. “I won’t, Con. I won’t.”

Connor’s eyes remained anchored on his as he rose onto his knees, half-leaning over Hank and drawing far, far too close. Hank wished he was closer. Connor’s dexterous fingers followed the line of his jaw, ghosting close to his lips, and Hank’s heart pitched into overdrive. _Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck? What the_ –

“Connor,” Hank growled, warning. Connor’s eyes shone, star-bright, like he was drunk out of his mind. “ _Don’t._ ”

Connor slung himself over Hank’s lap, shorts riding up his legs, and Hank could feel the pounding heat between his legs. Typical. The kid never listened to him anyway. Hank bristled, throat drawing so tight he could barely breathe, and he held his hands up as if touching Connor would set off sirens. Connor’s thin expression morphed into something smug and very, very warm. His hands smoothed over Hank’s shirt.

“Want me to stop?”

Hank swallowed dryly. _Yes,_ his brain howled. _Stop him! Shove him off, you useless bastard! He’s your fucking son!_

His mind said yes. He couldn’t get the words out, though. They crowded the back of his throat, and it felt like his vertebrae had rusted together as he gave the slightest shake of his head.

Connor’s mouth came down on his with the most delightful sound Hank had ever heard. It was as soft and as sweet as Hank imagined, because of _course_ he’d imagined it – it was impossible not to when the boy’s mouth was as soft-looking as a goddamn peach, ripe and ready to be bitten into. Hank moaned into his mouth when Connor’s tongue slipped in alongside his – it was just as quick and clever as the rest of him. _Where the fuck did Connor learn to kiss like this?_

Hank’s brain grew foggy alarmingly quickly. All he knew was Connor, his Connor, sweet, delicious Connor. His boy. His son. His hands closed around Connor’s narrow waist and _squeezed_ , rewarded with a delighted gasp as he did, and Connor dropped his weight to grind down on Hank’s lap.

“Do you want my terms, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, voice like gravel, breathless. He licked his lips and Hank groaned deep in his chest, his cock chubbing up against his thigh. He’d made some throw-away comment once about girls pulling rank in the bedroom and Connor obviously hadn’t forgotten it, if the gleam in his eyes was anything to go by. He didn’t wait for Hank’s desire-addled brain to come up with a reply. Instead, he lay a wet kiss on Hank’s mouth and said, “No more dates.”

“Deal,” Hank rasped immediately. Connor’s smile grew very smug – possessive, almost. He tugged at Hank’s shirt, dragging it up over his gut until he could slip his hands beneath, scraping his nails over the faded planes of Hank’s chest tattoo, delivering another bone-melting grind against Hank’s thigh. He began laying kisses down Hank’s neck, crawling all over him like he couldn’t get enough, and Hank finally gave into the urge to slide his hands up Connor’s thighs. Lean, soft, freckled thighs that went on for fucking _miles_. For all his baggy clothes, Connor had a wicked body on him.

“Pay attention to _me_ ,” Connor continued, shivering when Hank’s thick fingers pushed up under the hem of his shorts. “Just – me.”

“You got it,” Hank murmured against the hinge of Connor’s jaw, kissing and kissing and kissing like a starving man led to feast. “My boy. You’re my boy.”

Connor moaned, _loudly_ , his body unable to contain the sound, hands gripping Hank’s forearms. _Oh,_ Hank thought. _He likes that._

Something inside Hank switched, then. It was sudden and came entirely out of left field, but whatever reservations he had about fucking his son transform into the most carnal form of need he had ever experienced. He could deal with the ramifications of being a moral bastard later – right now he had a gorgeous boy practically humping his leg, and he wasn’t crazy enough to turn that down.

“’M sorry, Con,” Hank murmured as he kissed him, drinking in each moan and sweet, sweet noise from his boy’s mouth. Connor’s voice had always been a little raspy, and Hank had always loved it. He loved it even more like this, crafted into the most exquisite sounds. He wished he could draw them out forever. “Should’ve been there for you. I didn’t – I didn’t know.”

Connor took Hank’s face into his hands and fixed him with gentle eyes. “I know,” he said softly, forlornly. “I’m sorry for this, too.”

Hank swallowed and grimaced. There was guilt there, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, cold and heavy like a stone. It was wrong, sure, and Hank was (usually) a law-abiding man… but no matter which way he looked at it, he couldn’t convince himself he was taking advantage of Connor. No – the kid was too smart, too experienced. Maybe later they could face… whatever this was. What they were doing. But not now. Not here, not like this – Hank needed Connor just as much as Connor needed Hank. It was months and months of yearning, both unbeknownst to each other, come to fruition in a single bad decision.

“I want to be yours, Hank,” Connor whispered hot against his cheek. “If you’ll have me.”

There was trust. There was trust and there was love, a love Hank earned a long time ago but was only now scraping at the surface. A love that should never have been, but that was nonetheless.

Well. Something had to kill him one day, he supposed.

A moan punched from Connor’s throat as Hank’s thigh bullied its way between the boy’s legs. Connor’s breath wavered and he clung to Hank’s shirt as one huge, calloused hand came to press against the seam of his shorts. Hank’s cock was rock-hard, bulging at his boxers, and Connor’s mouth nearly watered at the sight of it.

“Fuck me,” Connor begged, like something straight out of a wet dream, canting his hips up against Hank’s hand.

“Take it easy,” Hank growled, pressing his thumb against the bone of Connor’s pubis. He could feel each ridge and bump between his legs, and even though Hank hadn’t fucked anyone in a good few years, he still knew his way around a soft pussy well enough.

Hank pushed up Connor’s shirt to watch the muscles of his belly flutter. The kid was lean, flat-chested, body worn into a mass of pleasing slopes. He was truly one of the most handsome young men Hank had ever seen, and it still floored him that Connor had ended up with _him_. He knew Connor was trans – he’d known before he met him, but it was no skin off Hank’s nose. He was one of the lucky ones, boyish and able to pass even without treatment, which he’d been on for years and years. Didn’t need top surgery, he’d said with a wolf-sharp smile one of the few times he and Hank had talked about it, and he wasn’t ready to go under the knife _down there_ yet. Hank didn’t make a big deal about it, and they never needed to discuss it much; Connor was anchored in who he was and what he wanted, and he wasn’t the type of person to be swayed easily. Hank was confident in that respect.

Sometimes he heard Connor through the walls. His house wasn’t _new_ , and the walls could probably have been thicker, and Connor didn’t seem overly concerned with keeping quiet. He’d heard Connor’s bed creaking, the sound of his breathless voice rising in moans. It was torture and left him aching. Sitting at the kitchen table like a cantankerous bear when Connor’s partner tried to make his escape always made it worth it, though. The terror in their eyes never got old.

“What’re you thinking about?” Connor asked, recognizing the far-away look in Hank’s eyes.

“You,” Hank admitted, unprepared for the way Connor preened in response. His body arched, pressing hot against Hank’s belly, his arms slipping up around his neck to pull him down for another wet fuck-me kiss. “Christ, Connor -,”

“I always thought of you,” Connor whispered, humping his hips down against Hank’s hand. He’d never gotten so wet so fast in his life – something about Hank just _did it_ for him. “I’d go out and look for men who reminded me of you. Get them to fuck me and thought about you instead. I -,”

Hank slapped a hand over Connor’s mouth and Connor panicked, wondering if he’d gone too far. Hank’s eyes were almost black with lust.

“You want me to blow my load right here?” Hank snarled, and tears prickled behind Connor’s eyes, his cunt drooling. He made a weak, warbling sound muffled behind Hank’s hand, jutting out his chin so he could take a few thick fingers into his mouth. Hank groaned, the sound rumbling up through Connor’s body.

Hank yanked off Connor’s shorts, the tent in his boxers making the boy’s thighs quiver. _Big_ , Connor’s brain supplied unhelpfully, pussy squeezing at the mere thought of getting fucked by it. He licked his lips and fixed Hank with his best puppy-dog eyes, spreading his legs without shame, his invitation bordering on desperate.

Connor reached forward and pulled down Hank’s boxers, letting his cock spring free. _Big_ was right – Hank was thick and a bit longer than average, hefty and pleasing to look at; Connor’s mouth watered, a strangled moan wrestling its way between his teeth, drool pooling under his tongue from the sheer craving to put his mouth on it. He leaned forward like Hank’s dick had its own gravitational pull, ending up on his belly, face slotted up against Hank’s groin. The older man’s hand was in his hair again, as if he was contemplating pushing Connor away but couldn’t quite manage it. Connor looked too sweet mouthing at the base of his cock like that, like he wanted to _devour_ it, driven crazy by his own desire. Hank’s precome smeared against Connor’s freckled cheek, and their eyes met, Hank’s heart swelling with love.

“Slowly, baby,” he urged, knowing Connor’s propensity for rushing head-first into situations. Connor purred under his hand as it stroked through his hair, nursing along his cock until those soft lips arrived at his glans. Looking Hank right in the eye, Connor closed his gorgeous mouth around the head of Hank’s cock and suckled like a goddamn baby. “Shit,” Hank grunted, as close to a heart attack as he’d ever been in his life. Connor knew his way around a dick, that was for sure.

Soon all Connor’s attempts at coquettishness fell by the wayside, and he began to take Hank’s cock as deep as he could; what he couldn’t take into his mouth he worked with his hand, making obscene, wet noises that sounded straight from a porno. Drool sluiced from his chin as he warmed himself up, Hank’s dick glistening with it, before he tried to take him deeper – and, Christ, the kid was a _champ_. He took Hank almost down to the root, his throat impossibly tight, massaging Hank’s cock like a dream. He looked up at Hank with his cock crammed almost entirely down his throat, eyes swimming with tears, his spine shuddering as he gagged – and he _winked_.

Hank’s hand fisted in his boy’s hair and he came violently, right down his throat. Connor ground his drooling pussy down against the covers, desperate, swallowing down what he could and gagging on what was left.

Hank collapsed, boneless, against the headboards. Connor might as well have sucked his soul out straight through his dick, and if the way the kid sat there on his knees with a half-smile was anything to go by, he was rather proud of himself.

“Your diet could use some fine-tuning,” Connor had the gall to say with Hank’s come glistening on his chin. Hank’s dick twitched, even in the face of yet another one of Connor’s jabs about his diet.

“Fuck you,” Hank said, and quickly wished he didn’t.

Connor reached down to touch himself, smiling. “That’s the plan.”

But Hank wasn’t young anymore, and he _certainly_ wasn’t as young as Connor – it’d take a bit more work to get hard again. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun in the meantime.

“You’re a real brat, you know that?” he snarled as he shoved Connor down onto his back, the boy letting out a pleased little huff as he spread himself out like warm butter over Hank’s sheets. Hank eased Connor’s shirt up over his head, laying a hand over Connor’s sternum. He’d seen Connor shirtless before, sure, but the way his chest looked flushed pink and lit by the gentle glow of the bedside lamp hit differently. Connor knew how good he looked, evident in the way he stretched, limber and beautiful as a cat, pushing himself up against Hank’s hand.

“Gorgeous,” Hank muttered to himself. He didn’t miss the pleased shiver Connor gave him in response. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby.”

Connor let out a half-laugh half-moan. “Touch me,” he whispered. Hank never could deny him anything.

Leaning down, Hank lathed his tongue over one of Connor’s nipples, taking the soft flesh between his teeth and working it until it stood hard and flushed and wet. Then he moved to the other, and by the time he was done Connor was breathing heavy, his eyes dark and glassy. Hank took his time exploring lower, over Connor’s lean belly, his navel, down to the jut of his hipbones and the swell of his pubis. The hair there was neat, trimmed – _slick_ , Christ, wetter than Hank imagined. His breath ticked against Connor’s mound, and he paused, hesitating. He glanced up the line of Connor’s body and found the boy watching him, his expression open in reverence.

“Touch me,” Connor begged again. “ _Please_.”

Hank started with his fingers. He spread Connor open, marveling at how Connor was perfect here, too, swollen from years of testosterone, his dick thick and fat. Hank took him between his fingers and jerked him a few times, until Connor threw back his head and _moaned_ , spreading his legs even wider. Then Hank pressed his forefinger against Connor’s hole, teasing, sliding it in slowly until his knuckles kissed swollen lips. Connor made a high, breathy little sound, humping his hips down against Hank’s hand, and Hank just couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

He sucked Connor’s dick into his mouth and _sucked_. It was a curious ultimatum between cunnilingus and a blowjob, but Hank found his rhythm quickly, and soon Connor was trembling and unable to think of anything at all apart from Hank’s head between his thighs.

“Hank - !” he rasped, and Hank took that as his cue to pull back. Connor lay there shivering and desperate for his touch, looking up at him with nothing short of betrayal. Hank chuckled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, and stroked a soothing hand up Connor’s thigh.

“Think I’d let you off that easy?” he challenged. Connor licked his lips, face darkening with the most exquisite blush. No – Hank planned to draw Connor along the edge until the kid was screaming on his cock.

“Please fuck me,” Connor breathed. The old bait and switch – this was his _good cop_ routine, all sweet and doe-eyed. Hank wasn’t an idiot, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. Whimpering, desperate Connor was just as good as bratty, challenging Connor. But then Connor pulled out the big guns. “Please fuck me, daddy.”

It was a wonder, really, how quickly Hank managed to get it up again. He’d guilt-wank to that for _weeks_.

“You’re a nightmare,” he accused. Connor grinned and urged Hank forward between his legs. Hank glanced at his nightstand where he knew he had a few old rubbers –

“Don’t even think about it,” Connor growled at him, good-cop routine momentarily forgotten. Hank never liked to think he was easily persuaded, but Connor was his life’s one exception.

He could barely breathe as he teased the head of his cock against Connor’s slit. This was it. This was – fuck, so _wrong_ , but Hank had never been this turned on in his life, and Connor wasn’t much better. The kid’s breath came high and shallow, just short of hyperventilation, and Hank was seized by the urge to comfort him. He leaned down, covered the boy’s body with his own and pressed a volley of soft kisses to his face.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against Connor’s whimpering lips, sliding home in one deep thrust.

Connor’s eyes rolled back into his head, teeth snapping shut, his body quaking. And Hank held him, kissed him, spoke gently against his cheek, stroked his hair back from his flushed, sweating face.

“I love you, Con,” Hank murmured, kissing away the tears on his boy’s cheeks.

“Dad –,” Connor’s voice was shattered. It was the first time he’d ever called Hank _dad_ , and even though the circumstances left much to be desired, it still shot to Hank’s heart. And his dick, admittedly.

“I’ve got you, son.” He began to move, then, grinding his hips down deep, drinking in Connor’s choked-off moan. The boy’s nails scraped down his back, trembling thighs vice-tight around his hips.

Connor was a chorus of _fuck me, fuck me_ and _dad_ and _Hank_ and _please_ , and Hank was pretty sure he could listen to it forever. Soon the heat grew overbearing, and Hank wrestled himself back up onto his knees, pulling Connor’s hips into his lap. Connor’s pussy was flushed and dripping and _sucking_ at his dick, the perfect fit. Hank’s hair was plastered to his brow with sweat, an ugly blush of exertion spreading down over his shoulders, but this was where the real fucking began.

He didn’t plan to stop until he’d broken his boy into pieces.

Connor wailed at the first bone-deep thrust. Hank set a pace nothing short of rigorous, fucking the poor boy until his teeth rattled and his eyes rolled. All Connor could do was lie there and take it.

“So good, Con,” Hank groaned, barely audible over the wet slap of Connor’s cunt. “So good for me. So fuckin’ good.”

He fucked Connor until the boy screamed himself hoarse. He didn’t care what the neighbors thought. He didn’t care about anything other than _Connor_ , his Connor, his boy. His son. _His_.

Hank didn’t last long. It was a wonder he lasted as long as he did, to be honest. As his climax thunders towards him he fucks harder than he has in years, desperate to see Connor come apart on his cock. And, oh, come apart he did.

Connor came with a hoarse shout, his body seizing and his dick twitching between Hank’s fingers. Fucking into his hole became a good sight easier, slick sluicing down Hank’s cock to mat in his pubic hair. He fucked Connor right through it without stopping, without even slowing down, until the boy is whining and near tears from oversensitivity.

“I’m gonna come, baby,” Hank warned him, his voice shot through with exertion. “Where d’you want it?”

Connor, fucked-out and barely paying attention, considered his options. Then he licked his teeth and threw himself down against Hank’s thrusts. “Inside.”

“Con –,” Hank began, intent on objecting because that was _dangerous_ even though Connor most likely couldn’t get pregnant at this stage. Still… the thought of knocking Connor up made his dick strain. “You sure?”

Connor nodded, lazily grinding his hips as he pushed himself up onto his arms; his elbows trembled, still weak, and Hank gladly scooped the boy up into his arms and held him tight against his front, fucking up into him as he kissed along his neck.

“Come inside me, daddy,” Connor breathed against Hank’s ear. “Fuck me full.”

Hank groaned, bit down hard into Connor’s shoulder, and came inside Connor as deep as he could. Connor keened at the sensation, nuzzling into Hank’s sweaty neck, kissing him like he was the most beloved creature in the world. In that moment, fucking his spend up into Connor’s body, he almost felt like he could be.

“Fuck,” Hank wheezed, his vision finally returning to him. His body felt weak. His heart felt weaker. The air was thick and hot and smelled overwhelmingly like Connor. “Fuck.”

Connor kissed gently at his lips, content to sit on Hank’s softening dick. “I love you, dad,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Hank only grunted and vaulted them both down onto the mattress before he suffered the indignity of collapsing. Connor curled into him like he wasn’t a self-sufficient young man, clinging to Hank and nuzzling at him, kissing him.

“This was bad,” Hank said after a long, heavy silence. “This was – _bad_.”

Connor hummed. “I disagree,” he said. “It was very good. Better than I imagined.”

Because Connor had fucking _imagined_ Hank fucking him. Jesus. Hank rubbed a hand over his face and tried not to look into that too much.

“You’re – I mean, we – we should talk about this.”

Connor made a lazy, disinterested sound and began fingering himself, leg thrown up over Hank’s hip. “Probably.”

Maybe they would, one day. Hank decided that it was more important to finger Connor’s pussy open and make the boy suck his fingers clean, however, and Connor seemed immensely satisfied with that decision.

“I love you,” Hank told him earnestly. “I – didn’t know you felt like that. I’ll do better.”

Connor fixed him with something that’s not quite a smile, but it was dazzling and so full of love that Hank momentarily forgot how to breathe. He loved Connor, as a son, as something else – in all ways it was possible to love another person. No, Connor had never been a bad decision.

Connor had been his best one.


End file.
